


Hook, Line, and Sinker

by Peanutbutterer



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanutbutterer/pseuds/Peanutbutterer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to 4x13, "The Chosen One"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hook, Line, and Sinker

“Sushi?” he says, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

Kensi waves the bag in front of him. It smells so good, it’s all he can do not to cave. _Goldfish Deeks_ , he reminds himself. _Goldfish Deeks_.

“It’s from that place on Vine you like so much,” she says all sing-songy and charming and - _Goldfish Deeks_.

He shakes his head and forces a serious expression. “Heartless, Kens. Really, truly heartless.”

She bites her lip. _Goldfish, goldfish, goldfish_. “I think you’re looking at it the wrong way.”

“Oh yeah? And how should I be looking at it?”

She smiles, proud and confident, and he knows even before she speaks that he’s going to let her in. “You didn’t have to pay for it, you didn’t have to pick it up, and it comes with a side of me.”

He’s got no willpower. None. 

“Well, when you put it like that.” He drops his arm from the doorframe, stepping back to allow her to enter. 

She does so, kicking off her shoes once she’s inside and padding across the room. She sets the takeout bag on the coffee table and busies herself with sorting its contents.

He makes his way to the fridge and grabs two bottles of water. He comes back into the living room and holds one out to her.

She looks at the offered bottle like it’s some sort of foreign object and then drags her eyes up to meet his. “We nearly got blown up today.”

He waits for the rest of the thought to come, but it doesn’t. 

“And so you’ve decided to stop hydrating?” he guesses.

With a roll of her eyes, she turns and heads to the kitchen. He can hear her opening cupboards and clanging glasses. He shakes his head and plants himself in the center of the couch, scooting forward so he’s close to the table.

Kensi returns with two tumblers and a bottle of bourbon. 

“Ah,” he says as she pours. “Booze. That was my next guess.”

She hands him one of the glasses and holds up the other. “To living,” she says.

He clinks his against hers. “To living.”

He takes a sip and sets down the glass, handing Kensi the teriyaki chicken bowl as she sits beside him, and grabbing a piece of sushi for himself. He thinks that maybe today scared her more than she’s willing to admit. Maybe even a lot. He thinks maybe he should talk to her about it - get her to open up or console her or _something_.

In the end, of course, he opts for the ‘or something.’

“Idiot boyfriend?” he asks around a mouthful of spicy tuna. “Really?”

“You would have preferred ‘dumbass’?”

He points his chopstick at her. “You’re the one who’s obsessed with fish.”

“Am not!”

“Please,” he takes another bite, “you made me keep the damn thing.”

She shakes her head and reaches for her glass. “I did no such thing. I just made you get it better accommodations. You were already going to keep it.”

“It looks like me!” he says, as if that’s some kind of defense. “It would be like flushing myself down the toilet.”

She shrugs, the corner of her mouth tugging up in the hint of a smile. “He’s already got one fin in the sewer.”

His face drops in confusion and he takes a moment to try and parse that. When the moment’s up, he still has no clue. “Did he lose a fin?”

“No,” she waves him off, like it’s just _so_ obvious, “you know. Like ‘one foot in the grave’ but the fish version.”

“That would so not be the fish version.”

“Yes it would. And it’s hilarious.”

“You can’t claim it as hilarious when you had to explain it.”

“Okay, a, that is not a rule -”

“Yes, it is.”

“And b,” she continues over his objection, “it’s not my fault you’re slow. My humor shouldn’t have to suffer because you’re a lousy audience.”

He smiles as the realization dawns. “Oh my god. You think you’re funnier than me.”

She turns her palm up in the universal gesture of what’re-you-gonna-do. “I got the joke and you didn’t.”

He can’t help but laugh. “That is not the conclusion that follows!”

“It’s the only conclusion.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You’re adorable.”

She scrunches up her nose. “You smell like fish.”

“I wonder what I taste like.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “Oh, please.”

He laughs, loud and light. “Don’t pretend you’re not charmed.”

“I don’t have to pretend.”

“Liar,” he says. “You practically melted this morning when I described Kensalina as sleek and sexy.”

She takes a sip of her drink. “That’s because when we were at the store you said she was my doppelganger because she was ‘obviously a girl fish.’”

“I love it when you impersonate me. That ‘duh’ face you adopt is really attractive.”

“Yeah, well, I have to look at the real thing. It’s no picnic.”

“Again with the hurtful words,” he says, faux-pout firmly in place as he sets his glass down and turns to face her. “I guess I should be thankful you don’t resort to punching me all the time. It’s nice that you alternate between verbal and physical abuse.”

“Speaking of verbal and physical,” she says, leaning toward him, eyes bright. “Shut up.”

He does as instructed, capturing her lips with his. His hand comes up to cup her jaw, the other reaching for her hip. 

“You taste like fish,” she informs him, her words muffled against his lips. She drags the zipper down the front of his hoodie and then pushes it off his shoulders. “I hate fish.”

“Luckily, you love me.”

“I tolerate you.” 

She yanks the hoodie all the way off and tugs at the hem of his shirt. They break their kiss only long enough to pull the offending material up and over his head.

“You have sex with all the people you merely tolerate?” he asks, doing his part to ensure she’s equally topless.

She hums against his lips. “Only the super chatty and annoying ones.”

“Sticks and stones.”

“If you make a bone joke -”

He doesn’t hear the rest of her threat, because his lips find that spot on her neck that always triggers a moan. This time is no exception.

“God, Deeks.”

Her skin is warm and soft against his hands as he slides them up her sides. She squirms under his touch, her hands fisting in his hair.

“Bedroom?”

She shakes her head. “Too far.”

Her back is pressed against the couch when he slides his hands behind her, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. Her ensuing laugh is cut short when he succeeds in his task, his lips quick to replace the fabric on her breast. She shudders, mindlessly tugging harder at the strands in her grasp.

“You’re not subtle, you know,” she says. “‘Your fish likes my fish.’ You may as well have made us the ones that were kissing.”

“But it’s much more fun to mess with Eric and Nell.” He kisses his way across to her other breast. “You’re just lucky the team didn’t see that punch. If that wasn’t a declaration of love, I don’t know what is.”

He meant it as a joke, but he can tell when she stills under him that she took it as something else. He glances up, eyes meeting hers only for a moment before looking down again. Her expression is serious - some sort of cross between apology and sympathy and he really hates it.

She tugs on his hair and waits for his gaze to return to hers.

“I love you,” she says softly. “You know that, right?”

He puts on a grin. “Of course.”

She doesn’t buy it. “I really do.”

“I know.” He does. It’s something he’s been certain of for a while. Something he counts on.

“I’m sorry if -”

“Kens,” he warns with a small shake of his head. “Let’s not do this now, okay?”

She hesitates, but agrees. 

He leans up, pressing a kiss to her lips.

She pulls away. “What the -”

He beams at her. “It seemed like there would never be a better time for it.”

“Fishy lips? Seriously?”

He considers a couple of quips -- he’s hooked on her, she baited him into it -- but then he remembers that he’s pressed against a half-naked Kensi and decides there are better ways to direct his energy.

“No more fish kisses,” he breathes into her ear. 

He can tell she’s torn between mocking him for being such an idiot and letting it go because she doesn’t want his lips to stop. He can almost hear the half-assed debate he knows is going on in her mind when he starts heading south -- just below her ear, down her neck, pausing on her chest, back to her breast, and finally settling on her nipple. His tongue flicks out and he feels the fight go out of her as she settles in.

Her hands are on his hips. He’s not sure when they dropped down from wherever she’d been resting them, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. She applies slight pressure, just enough to encourage him to move up against her, firmly between her legs and pressing her against the couch.

Her back arches, responding to his fingertips as they work their way along her spine. Her body is responding to his touch, moving with the rhythm of his hands as they work their way slowly down, making sure to take in every square inch.

Together they maneuver so they’re lying down, him on top and her squirming below.

“Bed would be bigger.”

She shakes her head. “Are you saying you want to be farther away from me?”

“Never. I’m saying you’re limiting how acrobatic this performance is going to be.”

She laughs and reaches for his belt. “Next time I’ll bring a trampoline - really see what you can do.”

“You haven’t lived until you’ve seen me on the flying trapeze.” He grins, his lips once again blazing a path down her body.

She whines when his movements take his pants out of her reach. “I was working on those.”

He ignores her protest, pressing kisses across her stomach, the skin stretched tantalizingly before him. He flicks open the button of her jeans and kisses the newly exposed flesh as he pulls at the zipper. She lifts her hips when he hooks his fingers over the fabric and drags it down over them, his nails lightly scraping along her skin as they go.

When her pants get to her thighs, he sits up on his knees and yanks once. “Up,” he orders.

She pulls her legs out from between his and raises them up long enough for him to remove the articles of clothing. When her feet come down he snags one, pressing a kiss to the bare sole.

“Love you,” he whispers against it.

She smiles and reclaims her foot, wrapping her now bare legs around him, nudging him forward until he falls against her. Her hands find his elbows and she gives them a squeeze, indicating that he should continue up her body.

He moves to meet her mouth with his own. Her lips are warm, slightly rough. Her tongue flits in against his, daring him to chase it. He considers momentarily how he could be so incredibly lucky, but before he can think much about it her tongue is darting in again and he spends the next few minutes not thinking at all.

“I was scared today,” she admits when they eventually separate. “For Callen. For all of us.”

“Me too.”

“Did you think about leaving? When the bomb -”

He shakes his head once. “Not for a second.”

She nods, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “That was stupid of us.”

“Loyal,” he corrects. “Stupidly loyal. But really,” he smiles, keeping his tone light. “What would life be like without Callen? I wouldn’t want to find out.”

At his raised eyebrows, she laughs. “Something you want to tell me?”

“Can you blame me? I mean, those eyes. Have you noticed the way the lighting in ops really brings out the blue?”

She’s still laughing when his lips return to her neck, slowly making their way down to her collarbone. “You’ll have to fight Sam for him.”

“The delivery of that statement implies that you don’t think I’d be victorious in that particular battle.” 

He looks up to see her raising an eyebrow.

“I would!” he argues, fingers trailing up her side. “He may have me beat in sheer muscle, but I’m scrappy.”

She ruffles his hair. “More like scruffy.”

He sighs. “Why are we talking about Sam and Callen?”

“I have no idea.”

Her hands return to his belt, finishing the task he’d interrupted earlier. He wiggles his hips as she scoots his jeans over them, snagging his boxers as she pulls them down. When he’s completely divested of his clothing, he reaches for the blanket that’s draped across the back of the couch. He yanks it over his back and settles himself on top of her.

“You had goosebumps,” he says.

She presses a kiss to his lips. “I wonder why.”

He grins at that. His hands are back at work, trekking down her back and sliding across the curve of her ass. He can tell from the way she’s gone still that she’s anticipating his next move.

“Hey Deeks, you know that I pick on you because -”

“No,” he says before she can finish. “Don’t ruin the illusion.”

“But, I -”

“Okay, ruin the illusion, but not the mood. Less talk, more sex.” He pulls the blanket up over their heads and plunges them into darkness.

“Reel me in.”


End file.
